Harry McClintock

Harry McClintock Poems

Harry McClintock Biography

Harry Kirby McClintock (October 8, 1882 – April 24, 1957), also known as "Haywire Mac," was an American singer and poet. Born in Knoxville, Tennessee, "the son of a railroad cabinet maker and nephew of four boomer trainmen". His drifting began when he ran away from home as a boy to join a circus. He railroaded in Africa, worked as a seaman, saw action in the Philippines as a civilian mule-train packer, supplying American troops with food and ammunition, and in 1899 found himself in China as an aide to newsmen covering the Boxer Rebellion. Back in the States, he hired out to the Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne and Chicago Railway in the Pittsburgh area, and from there he took the boomer trail as railroader and a minstrel. Mac lived an adventurous life and never lost his sense of humor".)

The Best Poem Of Harry McClintock

The Trusty Lariat (Cowboy Fireman)

Through the high Sierra Mountains
Came an S P passenger train
The hoboes tried to ride her
But found 'twas all in vain

The conductor he took the tickets
And he counted every soul;
The engineer looked straight ahead
And the fireman shoveled coal.

Now, the fireman was a cowboy
But do not think that strange
He could make more money shoveling coal
Than riding on the range

So though he was a fireman
And though he had to sweat
He still remained a western guy
And he kept his lariat

The train was way behind time
When suddenly ahead
A little child strolled on the track
And filled them all with dread

Her golden hair in ringlets
Was streamin' down her back.
And she little knew of her danger grave
As she strolled along the track

'My gosh' the hog head shouted
As he slammed on all the brakes
'I'll never stop this DP train
I ain't got what it takes'

'O Heaven help that wee tot!'
He cried in accents wild.
'Can nothing stop this DP train
And save the little child?'

Up sprang that cowboy fireman
And a gallant lad was he
'Now I will save that baby
If I wreck the whole DP'

He climbed upon the running board
With tears his eyes were wet
And in his hand, our hero brave
Bore his trusty lariat

He dropped his loop around a pole
That stood beside the track
And tied the other end of it
Around the big smokestack

He jerked the train right off the rails
And caused an awful wreck
And our hero lay there in a ditch
With the engine on his neck

Oh we will all remember
That forty-fifth of May
For there were many gallant hearts
All filled with fear that day

They buried that poor fireman
Where the prairie wind blows wild
He killed two hundred passengers
But, Thank God, He saved the child

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